A Change in Life
by Whispers in the Dawn
Summary: Minerva decided that enough was enough. If Harry Potter wasn't getting his letters, she'd grab someone who knew how to move in the Muggle world, visit Room 17, Railview Hotel, Cokeworth and give him the letter herself, no matter what Albus said about hagrid doing it. Too bad she chose Quirrell, the ex Muggle Studies professor to accompany her.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I'm black haired, black eyed and still living with my parents. Do you still think I'm J K Rowling?**

**No need to worry, all the followers of my story Knowing. That one is still going to be the priority but this plotline just wouldn't leave me. It's based on the question of what would happen if Minerva was less inclined to let Albus get away with everything concerned with Harry and decided to take his letter to Harry in person, accompanied by a still unpossessed but aligned with Voldemort Quirrell because he used to be the Muggle Studies and Minerva doesn't really know how to make do in the Muggle World, being more used to finding her way in residential areas and not hotels around cities she isn't aware of, in the search of a boy whose already shifted addresses once before and might again.**

**So, just read and review please.**

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Minerva McGonagall looked up from the papers she had been staring at uncomprehendingly at the sound of a knock on the door. For a second, she looked unseeingly at the wooden door to her office before shaking her head clear. Ever since Harry Potter's address had changed after the deluge of letters sent the previous day, none of which had been answered, Minerva had had a sense of deep foreboding. She had only realized that something was the matter when every new student except the Muggleborns who she would be handing out the letters to personally had owled their acceptance. Except Harry Potter.

But that was no reason to ignore her duties. She had taken her worries about the continued lack of any response from the boy to Dumbledore but the man had refused to do anything about it except say that they would wait till Harry's birthday to take any drastic measure. If it seemed like there was going to be no response, he'd send Hagrid along to fetch the boy. Hagrid honestly! She had nothing against the half-giant. He was a very sweet man who would never hurt anyone, but he had a certain lack of delicacy. Not to mention his big physique that might make a child afraid of him, especially if the child had been taught to hate magic, as Minerva was very afraid Harry had. Why else would he not respond, unless it was because he didn't want to have anything to do with them?

Another knock, louder this time, jerked her out of her thoughts. This had been happening with alarming frequency, her relapsing into her own thoughts without thinking about what was going on in the real world. She raised her voice and said in a carefully controlled voice, "Enter."

The door opened slowly, as if to give her time to compose herself, and she took it gratefully.

"Are you busy, Minerva?" Quirinus asked her slowly.

"No, do come in," She replied, ignoring the way the time he took to carefully articulate his words so as to not stutter. She feared that the man would never recover after his disastrous sabbatical. The man had been a wonderful researcher, a fit Ravenclaw if not Gryffindor material. But the encounter with the vampires hadn't done anything for his self-esteem and the way he went around afraid as if someone was going to jump out of the shadows to attack him and the stutter he spoke in unless he was very careful were clear indications that something had gone horribly wrong.

She was proud that he still decided to take the DADA post even if all the Professors of that subject always left in mysterious circumstances. It was why she made sure to never act as if he couldn't do something, gave him the time he required to properly speak and allowed him to interrupt her whenever he wanted to as long as she wasn't very busy, just like now.

"Are you worried about something?" the man asked as he sat down gingerly in the armchair in front of her.

She debated over whether or not to tell him but then decided that it couldn't do any harm. It was already the 29th of July and she had no doubt that when she sent the letter to little Harry, she wouldn't receive any response tomorrow. She looked at Quirinus' face, his purple turban and even though she knew that the Headmaster wanted her to send Hagrid, not even go herself to meet Harry Potter, she had a feeling that she had found a loophole. She knew that she was quite intimidating and had no idea as to what to do when out in the Muggle World. It was why she preferred taking letters to the Muggleborns while they were at home. It wasn't that big a hardship to cast a few notice me not charms, apparate to their doorstep and knock. She had no idea what to do in a place she took to be a sort of Muggle inn.

Minerva knew her speculative looks at Quirinus were making him nervous, he had started fidgeting but she ignored it. Albus had had a free reign in the matter of poor Harry, and look where they were now! The poor dear was running away in order to get away from them, or at least his Uncle and Aunt were. She nodded decisively as she made up her mind. She had an address, a name and hopefully a companion fully able to move around in the Muggle World.

"Quirinus," Minerva asked the man who had started sweating nervously. "Can you dress Muggle enough to pass by unnoticed?"

He both nodded and said nervously, "Y-yes."

"How do you feel like accompanying me to," she took a look at the letter on the top of her desk and then continued, "Ah…Railview Hotel, Cokeworth?"

Quirinus blinked dumbly. Minerva was sure she would be able to get him out of that habit. A bit of positive reinforcement was all that he needed. And what was more ego boosting than knowing that she completely depended on him to collect The Boy Who Lived? After all, who was to say that she hadn't simply felt out of the loop on Muggle things and Quirinus being the previous Muggle Studies teacher hadn't decided to take her out to see the Muggle World? And who was to say that they hadn't coincidentally decided to rest in the same hotel as Harry Potter? They could have simply been there to look at the railway after which the hotel had been named after.

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Regardless to say, Quirinus hadn't been too eager to go to some Muggle inn to spend the night at 11o'clock in the night. It was a feeble opposition he put up, especially since every student who' passed out from Hogwarts under her tutelage had learned that when she looked at him like that, it was time to give in. Hagrid had been confused but amenable to give them Harry's vault key when she asked.

The woman who had come down to the reception to give them their keys hadn't been too pleased, neither was the boy who had been woken up to take their luggage, two small overnight cases though it was. It was with some horror that she realized that the small rickety room type thing with metal bars on the front was something they were supposed to enter. It wasn't their room was it, because she had asked for two separate rooms, and had certainly expected a bed at least. Her horror must have been clearly visible, since the boy pulled at his cap and said disgruntledly, "No need to puke up all over me shoes. It works just fine."

"I'm s-sure it d-does," Quirinus interceded. "B-but my aunt d-doesn't like elav-vators."

"As you say Guv'nor," the boy said while pulling the bars open to one side. The ride was one of her worst memories, she was sure that any moment, the elev-thing would fall down and she'd be crushed. She was sure that had her arms and legs been visible in the jacket-skirt combination she was wearing, her hair standing on end would have been quite visible. As it was, she nearly scampered out of the death chamber the moment the boy pulled the bars aside again after the thing stopped, her stomach roiling and skin clammy.

Quirinus also looked shaky when he came within her line of sight as she resolutely refused to look at THAT THING again but not as much as she did. They both stayed silent as the boy showed them their rooms and went on his way. It took her a few tries with her hand as shaky as they were but she finally managed to get her door opened and motioned for Quirinus to enter as well.

"N-Now will you t-tell me what's g-going on?" he asked the moment the door was closed.

Minerva felt a little guilty about having brought the man down to stuttering in her presence but she wasn't sure that they wouldn't have encountered Albus before leaving and she had no confidence in Quirinus' Occlumency shields. She also had no faith that Albus wouldn't try to get inside Quirinus Quirrell's head, even if only for his own good.

But there was no reason to not tell him anything now, and so she told him what she had decided in her office. "Harry Potter hasn't been replying to the letters we have been sending him. The Muggles he was sent to live were one of the worst kind that I have ever met and I am afraid that something bad may have happened. Albus refuses to listen to me, which is why we are here right now. I wish to get to Mr. Potter without drawing any undue attention, from the Muggles, from Albus or the supporters of You Know Who."

"He is h-here right n-now?" Quirinus stammered out.

Minerva gave him a short nod. He deserved to know at least this much. He had been a great help, transfiguring their clothes into something that wouldn't be too conspicuous, finding out where this place was by using some of the maps of Britain that he had, finding their way from where the Knight Bus had dropped them since it didn't drop them in front of the hotel, just in the city, when the hotel was on the very outskirts of it. She wasn't sure she would have made it this far without him and Minerva had always been one to give credit where it was due.

"Will I have to do much?" Quirinus asked slowly with a thoughtful expression on his face.

She shook her head as she said, "I don't want you to get in trouble with Albus, much better if I handle most of it. I am used to giving the news to the Muggleborns in a manner that they become eager to learn magic."

Quirinus nodded before saying politely, "I'll be retiring then."

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "We will need an early start tomorrow to find out where Potter is since I don't know what his uncle's name is. Best to get a good night's sleep."

Quirinus arched an eyebrow as if to say that it would be impossible I they went to bed so late and hoped to get up early the next morning. She ignored it and proceeded to shoo him out. She just hoped that Quirinus wasn't a deep sleeper. She wasn't going to wait for him to complete his beauty sleep to start searching for the child of two of her Lions. She didn't even feel guilty of having lied to Quirinus about not knowing where Harry was. She knew his room number but since she didn't want to make a bad impression by waking the boy up in the middle of the night, she didn't feel it was the right thing to divulge his location to anyone else, even a fellow Hogwarts Professor.

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Harry wasn't having a nice day, or even a nice week. Someone had been desperately sending him letters that he hadn't been able to answer. He only hoped that they hadn't given up and there would be another letter for him today, one that he might be able to catch. He started eating his toast with cold tinned tomatoes, deciding to leave the stale cornflakes for last. He had never liked cornflakes and so had always looked upon it as a good thing that he was rarely given any, but he was too hungry to refuse food, even if it was something he didn't like. He just hoped that his stomach felt full before he had to eat them, futile though it was.

He looked up when two people who somehow looked out of place in the small room that acted as the hotel's dining room entered through the door. One was a pale young man in a brown suit and thick brown hair and the other was a strict looking woman with her black hair tightly tied back in a bun and wearing spectacles. The woman seemed to be searching for something while the man looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. He quickly looked away as the woman looked at him but not before she caught a good look at him.

It was with some degree of surprise that he saw her make her way towards the table he was eating with at with his Aunt and Uncle and cousin. He refused to call them his family. However, it was with complete shock that he saw the woman stop right in front of him, the man hurrying after belatedly, and ask in crisp tones, "Mr. Harry Potter?"

Harry just nodded mutely. He hadn't done anything strange since the snake incident so it couldn't be that he's accidentally gotten into trouble, and even if he had, it would have been in the presence of only the Dursleys since he hadn't met anyone else the previous day. Even though he racked his brain hurriedly, he couldn't come up with any reason why the stern looking woman and the scared looking man would be looking for him.

He didn't have to wait for long. She continued in extremely formal tones, her voice easily rising over Uncle Vernon's blustering remarks about nosy busybodies, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry stared at her incredulously, she was joking. Right?

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**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'll make changes later. too sick right now. thank you for all your reviews.

Chapter 2

Harry looked at the Dursleys only to find them frozen in almost identical postures of horror. Except for Dudley, he just looked slightly constipated before he resumed eating. Harry even got the feeling that the only reason he had halted at all was because Aunt Petunia had been about to push her own bowl of cornflakes towards him and had paused in stupefaction at what the strange lady had said. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked pasty white, resembling curdled milk more than anything in his opinion.

When it seemed like no one else was going to say anything, his relatives because they were too horrified at this deviation from normality, the stern woman because she was waiting for some sort of response and the young man because he wanted to be anywhere but where he was; he decided that he'd have to do something on his own. Harry had the strangest suspicion that the woman was someone who belonged in the asylum and the man a poor relation who had been tasked with her upkeep.

Still, he had been taught to be a very polite man, not because it was much prized in his household but because he hated it when people were rude to him just because of his shabby, second hand clothes.

So he finally took a deep breath and said hesitantly, "I'm sorry Ma'am, but I think you've gotten the wrong person. I've never played this Hogwarts game before."

He thought it would be much better to act as if she was a participant in a game, there were supposed to be such games for adults, weren't they? Events where they acted out fantastic scenes which weren't actually true? It was, at least, a lot nicer than saying, "I think you ought to go get your head looked at if you think magic actually exists and you're the deputy Headmistress at a school that teaches it."

Somehow, he didn't think that it would be well received.

McGonagall looked as if she'd been slapped for a second before she seemed to puff out as she asked, "What do you mean, young man, by saying it is a game?"

"Because magic…isn't real?" Harry asked slowly.

"Magic isn't," she spluttered before asking in steadily rising octaves, "What do you mean by saying magic isn't REAL?"

"What the boy just said!" Uncle Vernon burst in. "And don't you go around filling his ears with any filth!"

"Filth!" The woman nearly screamed in anger. Even Dudley looked up from his food, though on closer consideration, Harry saw that he'd actually looked up because he's eaten everything on his plate. Harry looked at the young man who'd been standing unobtrusively to the side as a flash of movement drew his eye from where he could fast see his uncle swelling up. He only had a second to watch as the young man drew out a piece of wood from his suit and waved it in a complicated motion before his Aunt hissed out, "I know you! Did you think that I'd forget the woman who turned my toy snake alive! Get away from us, you…you…you witch!"

McGonagall, who'd evidently turned his aunt's toy snake alive drew up and said harshly, "A witch and proud of it! Unlike you, who didn't even bother telling your nephew about what he is! Did you think it would just disappear if you simply ignored it, especially with his parents being who they were?"

Harry felt like he should just keep his mouth shut but he couldn't help it, he asked, "But my father was an unemployed drunk, wasn't he?"

He would have asked about his mother too, but all he really knew about her was that she'd married his father right out of school and then been killed when her husband drove drunk.

It didn't seem to be the right thing to say at all as the woman in front of him seemed to stand up so straight and look so outraged that even his uncle, who had been about to say something just shut up and shrank into his seat as she turned her menacing gaze on them and asked angrily, "James Potter, an unemployed DRUNK? How dare you! The man gave everything he had to save low lives such as you and that's what you tell about him to his son! An unemployed drunk!"

The man standing behind her softly stuttered out, "B-but he was."

"QUIRINUS!" McGonagall shouted at him before turning back to Harry and saying in slightly strangled tones, "Those were harsh times and if he felt a slight inclination to take to the bottle sometimes in order to escape for a few hours… I'm sure we can all excuse it."

Harry noticed that she didn't say anything about the unemployed part and so he asked shrewdly, "Harsh times? Taking to the bottle? You aren't just trying to hide the fact that he drove drunk and got both himself and my mother killed in a car crash, are you? Because if so, you can just shut your mouth and go somewhere else!"

Okay, so maybe he was slightly bitter about it, it was completely his father's fault that he'd landed at the Dursleys!

"CAR CRASH!" the woman exploded at that. "What do you mean car crash? Lily and James Potter, Head Boy and Head Girl, die in something so Muggle as a CAR CRASH!"

That was a very strange word she used and Harry asked urgently, "Muggle? What do you mean by a car crash being too _Muggle_ for my parents to die in?"

That only seemed to infuriate her even more as she whirled on Aunt Petunia and shouted, "You didn't bother telling him what he is but not even telling him about his world! About the basic difference between you and him, about any type of magic AT ALL?"

"What I am?" Harry asked in confusion. He was an eleven year old boy, wasn't he? Even though he could guess what she was about to say going by the vein of the conversation, it just couldn't be true, could it?

As McGonagall opened her mouth to answer him, Uncle Vernon seemed to finally get rid of the fear that had engulfed him from the moment Aunt Petunia had mentioned her toy snake being turned real, and he shouted at her, "STOP! I FORBID YOU!"

The woman shouted right back at him, "OH, go drown yourself in HIPPOGRIFF piss!" before turning back to Harry and saying in a suddenly calm voice, "You, Mr. Potter, are a wizard."

Harry blinked dumbly at her as he heard his Aunt gasp in horror before he managed to say slowly, "I thing you've got the wrong person. I can't be a wizard!"

A soft look came on McGonagall's face as she said, "I'm sure it's hard to believe, but both your parents were wizards too, you know. Your father's entire family was magical. Of course you can do magic too."

Harry looked at her, torn about whether or not to believe her. On one hand, it would make him something special, distinguish him from his relatives, on the other hand…if he could do magic, how come he'd spent his entire life being used as Dudley's punching bag, his Aunt's unpaid servant, and his Uncle's favorite object of ridicule. How come he hadn't turned the Dursleys into warty toads every time they shut him in the cupboard? How come he got used as his cousin's football ever since Dudley knew what the game even was?

McGonagall seemed to understand what was going through his mind as she asked softly, "Did you never make things happen when you were scared or angry? When you wanted something so badly but couldn't get to it? Did nothing happen around you that you just couldn't explain?"

Now that he came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back... and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked at McGonagall with a smile on his face that she returned. She then turned to face Quirinus and then asked him incredulously after a moment, "Why are you twirling your wand in full view of Muggles like that?"

Indeed, Quirinus was twirling the piece of wood that Harry took to be his wand in between his fingers nonchalantly but he stopped when McGonagall spoke and answered slowly, "I just thought you m-might like a bit of quiet t-time with the boy."

"I'm sure you did," McGonagall said. "But do put it inside now."

It was the wrong thing to say as the moment Quirinus put his wand in his pocket, it seemed to breathe a new life in the Dursleys as Uncle Vernon shouted, "We swore when we took him in that we'd put a stop to that rubbish. Swore we'd stamp out that nonsense out of him. Wizard indeed!"

It was just then that Harry realized something that should have been glaringly obvious to him from the start. McGonagall had acted as if she had expected him to know about these things, Aunt Petunia had known who she was, and even Uncle Vernon hadn't acted as if magic was a great revelation. That meant only one thing, something that he'd completely ignored in light of all the other things he'd been finding out.

"You knew I was a wizard and you didn't tell me!"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak!

But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

"How could you lie to me like that?" Harry shouted back at her. "You told me they were the worst sort of people who got what they deserved!"

"And they were!" Aunt Petunia shouted right back at him. "The worst sort of freaks! First she got my parents killed and then as if it wasn't enough, she went and got into a fight with that other greasy freak like her at _my_ wedding reception! And then going around begging me for money because she couldn't find a job and her husband had wasted away all their money! Of course I told you what I did. Your parents weren't saints, they were fools with not the common sense God gave a GNAT!"

Aunt Petunia was panting by the time she finished and Harry stared at her in shock.

It was McGonagall who broke the silence that had taken over the room. She asked suspiciously, "The Potters were begging you for money? James was a Pureblood with centuries of accumulated wealth behind him. The reason he was unemployed was because he didn't need to work. Why in Merlin's name would Lily ask _you_ for money?" If McGonagall had been the type of woman to sneer, Harry was sure that she would have been doing it then.

His father was supposed to be rich? Harry had thought the man had died penniless, a part of the reason why the Dursleys detested him so much. They had to raise him without any monetary benefit and so made sure that he earned his keep and then some.

Aunt Petunia seemed to be of the same opinion as him as she made a snorting type of noise, just more derogatory, as she asked humorlessly, "And that's why Lily had to put her own inheritance from our Great Aunt into a Trust for the boy that even she couldn't touch after it was made?"

"That is ridiculous." McGonagall said resolutely. "And not the topic of our discussion either. Don't try to change the subject by bringing up such pointless things. It won't make me forget that you didn't bother telling your own nephew about anything. Even worse, you actively lied to him."

"Oh, what were we supposed to tell him?" asked Uncle Vernon with a sneer, the sight of his wife standing up to the witch seemed to be invigorating him. "That his mother was a fool who married for money, except he didn't have money? That his father was a man who took his own pride more seriously than the lives of his own family? That we would never have been landed with the brat if only those freaks had decided to do the right thing?"

Harry was feeling cold, this had changed from a discussion of how he was a Wizard to something else entirely, and he wasn't sure he liked or even understood what it was. He asked tremulously, "But it was an accident, wasn't it? The blown up part?"

"M-murd-dur," Quirinus said in a frightened tone that revealed exactly what he thought of the current topic.

McGonagall sighed heavily as Harry's Uncle and Aunt looked on triumphantly at having scored a hit. He didn't know why but Harry found his eyes going unconsciously to Dudley, the only one there he saw, that looked as clueless as he felt. It was a strangely comforting thought, that he wasn't the only one who knew nothing.

He turned back to the adults, one of whom was looking at him sorrowfully, one who was resolutely avoiding his gaze, one of whom was glaring at him bitterly and one who looked gleeful at all of this. Strangely enough, it was his Aunt who was glaring at him and his Uncle who was looking gleeful. He would have thought it would be the other way around, Aunt Petunia looking happy at finally getting to tell everyone what a freak she had had as a sister and Uncle Vernon being angry at being dragged into all this in the first place.

And even though he wished to analyze their expressions a lot more, he knew it was just an avoidance tactic and he had bred it into himself to not avoid things that couldn't be avoided. It was just like a dislocated shoulder, Harry told himself. It would hurt and even though he wouldn't want to twist it into place, he would do it anyway and soon because he knew it would make him feel better.

"Why would anyone want to murder my parents?" Harry asked resolutely. Better to yank the Band-Aid off all at once than pull it off bit by bit and put himself in prolonged agony.

"It was a horrible time," McGonagall told him slowly. "A very bad wizard had decided that he wanted to be in power and since he was quite powerful, he easily got many followers."

The grimace on her face at the word powerful showed that she hated saying something like that but wasn't one to mince words.

"Your parents were one of the best people I knew and they understood that there were things more important than power and joined a group of people who worked to oppose him. They fought him and I am proud to say, fought him off till help arrived three times. They were a constant sign that he wasn't all powerful if a Muggleborn could fight him off."

McGonagall shrugged helplessly after that and finished with a weak, "He went after them the fourth time…and they couldn't escape this time."

Harry swallowed before asking, "What's a Muggleborn?"

McGonagall looked surprised at being asked this out of all other questions that he could have asked but Harry wanted to be alone when he thought about all the things he had learned that morning. Still, she overcame her surprise and answered, "It's someone who has non-magical parents but can do magic themselves. Your mother was one."

"Are they supposed to be weak?" Harry asked, though not with much curiosity.

"No, parents don't really matter if you work hard enough at magic. It's just that He Who Must Not Be Named thought that Muggles and Muggleborns weren't worth more than slaves and actively hunted them. The fact that your mother being one, could fight him and live was a huge blow to his movement."

"And he's not going to be angry at me? That my parents made a fool of him?" Harry asked dubiously. In his opinion, it didn't sound very likely.

"Oh! He's gone." McGonagall looked both surprised and uncomfortable at that question.

He understood why when she said, "He disappeared the day he attacked your family, on Halloween ten years ago."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the woman. That seemed too much to be a coincidence. "And why was that?"

McGonagall looked even more uncomfortable at that before she finally said, "It's said…that you did it."

Harry blinked at her in stupefaction before finally asking, "What?"

She looked more uncomfortable than before if that was even possible, "It's said that he killed your parents, tried to kill you…and failed. You're famous as the Boy Who Lived. It's why you were hidden with your Muggle relatives. There were quite a few people who followed He Who Must Not Be Named but didn't go to prison. Till date, as far as I am aware, there have been five assassination attempts on your life."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at that. _Five assassination attempts! He didn't want to be dead!_ This was so ridiculous that he couldn't even think about it.

Uncle Vernon butted in angrily at that moment. "What do you mean by _five_ assassination attempts? How come we were never told! What if you freaks got my Dudley!"

"Stop calling us freaks" McGonagall barked at him "Or I'll turn you into a pig!"

"Can you do that?" Harry asked excitedly. He might be famous and have a bunch of people after his life but that didn't change the fact that he really wanted to know how to turn his relatives into a zoo of repellant creatures that he could then proceed to stomp on!

McGonagall sent him a sweet smile as she said, "Of course I can, and in a few years, so will you be."

Harry beamed at her. Now that was the type of news he liked.

"The l-letter," interjected Quirinus. Harry looked at him in surprise, he had almost forgotten the man was eve there. That was a wonderful technique that he wanted to learn. It would be immeasurable helpful while hiding from the Dudley. And the assassins now that he came to think upon it. But wait…

"If there were assassins after me, how come I never knew them? Wait! Was it one of those people who bowed or waved at me? Or were they the people who got rid of the actual assassins and were just letting me know?"

He had had his hand shaken by complete strangers, waved at by women he took to be completely batty, and bowed to by people who completely terrified Aunt Petunia. Maybe they were all wizards! Or maybe witches, he wasn't too sure that the word was same for both men and women, though he thought that it ought to be Wizards. Witches brought to mind old crones with warts and green eyes, though he did have green eyes, so maybe the actual word _was_ witches. After all, even crones were young at one time, weren't they?

Harry narrowed his eyes when he saw Quirinus' lips twitch. That could have passed for well stifled laughter if he didn't know that nothing funny had been said. Wait! He hadn't read his mind, had he? Wizards and witches were always doing that in books for one reason or the other. He'd have to be really careful not to think around the man.

Quirinus' lips twitched again. Maybe the man simply had a twitching problem?

He was brought out of his thoughts when McGonagall handed him a letter. It was a copy of the same one he had received so many days ago, it seemed, just with the words Mr. H. Potter, Room 17, Railview Hotel, Cokeworth replacing the words The Cupboard Under The Stairs.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all

necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

He asked the most pertinent question first, "What do you mean, expecting my owl?"

McGonagall said briskly, "In the Wizarding World, we use owls to communicate. There's a book at Flourish and Blotts that tells of all the regular practices in our World. You'll be getting that book. If I remember correctly, it was written by a Muggleborn himself."

Harry made to interrupt but she shot a _look_ at him that made him rethink his decision and he remained silent. She continued once assured of his cooperation.

"Since I came am here in person, there is no need to send me a letter. Unless you mean to not attend Hogwarts after all, in which case written proof of such would be required."

She paused at that, looking inquiringly at him. Harry took that to mean that he was allowed to interrupt again and shook his head violently. As if he'd say no to anything that got him away from the Dursleys!

McGonagall turned to the Dursleys and told them with contempt practically dripping off his voice, "He'll return to your house every summer till he turns seventeen, at which point hopefully, he'll never have to see your faces again. I expect you to treat him well, and I assure you, if I get even one indication that you're attempting any of that stomping his magic out nonsense that you spoke about, I won't hesitate to use my considerable prowess at magic to make all your worst dreams come true."

Aunt Petunia and Dudley shivered but Uncle Vernon still managed to say, "I am _not_ going to pay for sending him to a place that will make him turn him into even more unnatural."

"Believe me, you won't have to. You don't have enough to make a noticeable difference." McGonagall told him with asperity.

"We'll be going now," she turned and said to Quirinus. "You'll be accompanying us, Mr. Potter."

The moment they were out of the room and in the reception area, McGonagall waved her wand an a few moments later, a couple of bags came flying down the stairs. Quirinus looked taken aback at that and looked at her reproachfully only for her to say, "After that shouting match, we' have to Obliviate the other residents anyway."

"I c-cast a s-silencing charm." Quirinus told her.

McGonagall got a surprised look on her face before she said in the manner Aunt Petunia always used to excuse away her mistakes, "Well, since I planned on doing it anyway, it's not much of a hardship."

Quirinus simply shook his head at her. Harry didn't know what an Obliviate was before he could ask anything, the thin woman who had shown them their rooms the last night came racing down the stairs, screaming, "Flying bags!"

With a twitch of her wand, McGonagall froze the woman and with another, a blue light flew towards her and she got an unfocused look on her face.

When nothing else seemed to be happening, Harry turned to Quirinus and extended his hand towards the man, saying, "Harry Potter."

Quirinus got a strange look on his face but after a second, obligingly lifted his hand up.

A/N: Please review. Promise to answer next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: thank you Chrysanthemum Unicorn, delenda est c,Sooph , Krysania, Stardust of Orion,randver ,Katconan ,geetac, Taisia, fragonknight1 for having reviewed for this story. it felt really nice to read the encouragement.**

**i thought about answering randver's review, but it gets answered in the first line of this chapter. it's even shown in HP and the PS.**

**the things that happen in this chapter are all on the basis that HP is famous, even for goblins.**

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**Chapter 3**

Quirinus grasped Harry's hand and told him slowly, "Quirinus Quirrell. I am a p-professor at Hogwarts."

The man was very quick to let go of his hand though Harry didn't take it personally. The man just seemed that sort of man who twitched at doing anything that drew attention to him. That brought to mind something that he had seen the man do.

"How come you just waved your hand when you did your spells? Don't you have to say something like AbraKaDabra or something?"

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say as the man paled so much that he could have passed as a vampire and his blue eyes widened with fear as he hissed, "_Don't!"_

"Don't what?" Harry asked in trepidation. "Say Abra…"

He didn't get any further than that as all of a sudden, Professor Quirrell had his wand in his hand and had waved it at him. To his shock, Harry found that he couldn't hear himself anymore. He kept trying to make some sound, all to no avail. He was so engrossed with trying to utter a sound that he didn't notice when McGonagall turned from doing whatever she was doing to the receptionist to find him clutching his throat and making the strangest faces.

As a result, when she consequently lifted the spell Quirrell ha cast on him, he had already taken drastic measures and was doing his best to scream, thinking that if he just put enough effort into it, his voice would come back.

"Aaaaaaaargh."

"Mr. Potter! Stop that caterwauling right this instant!" McGonagall shouted at him. Harry shut up. It was hard to do anything else with her gimlet stare on him.

She turned to Quirrell and asked him angrily, "And what were you doing? Never mind. Let's just get out of here before the woman comes to her senses. It's a good thing that the Obliviate leaves the victim in a stupor for a few minutes in which they are very susceptible to outside influence."

She stormed off and Harry followed after her after shooting a glare at Quirrell. The man had no right to silence him like that! If he didn't want to answer he could have just said so!

He put it out of his mind for the moment as he followed McGonagall who quickly stormed out of the small hotel. Looking back, he realized that she'd left Quirrell to bring their luggage along, not that Harry had any, and Quirrell had to do it without magic. Good! Harry thought vindictively. The man deserved it.

He wasn't so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice as McGonagall led them to an alley right behind the hotel that seemed to be the recipient of all the garbage from the place. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, it looked like the garbage hadn't been collected for days, and that not all of it was tied properly in bags.

He hated to interrupt the woman when she was in a temper but he really didn't think she knew where they were going. He said hesitantly, "Professor?"

She looked at him sternly but told him, "Just a moment Mr. Potter. I'll explain in a moment."

She waited till Quirrell got there, looking quite out of breath at having to carry both McGonagall's and his own luggage, small though it was, before she continued, "What I am going to do now is called apparition. I will be disappearing from here, only to appear at my destination in a few moments. It is one of the ways we use to travel. I will be taking you with me, landing in Charring Cross Road, London. You will be able to find your way there on your own next time, will you not?"

Here she paused to wait for his answer. He nodded. He wasn't sure exactly how to get to that place, but a map of London would probably help. Then he thought about how he was going to a magic school and asked, "Will we be able to get all the things we need there? I mean, I don't think they sell things like flying brooms and wands in London."

McGonagall looked at him before raising her eyebrows and saying, "Mr. Potter, there is a list of items to be bought for this school year in your letter. If you read it, you'll realize that you're not supposed to buy a flying broom. In fact, you are forbidden from bringing any brooms to school."

"Oh!" Harry said.

"Grab on tightly," McGonagall told him when he said nothing else, offering him her hand. He felt a bit uncomfortable but grabbed her hand tightly anyway. A moment later, he regretted that decision terribly. It felt as if he was being squeezed into a tiny tube that was already filled to the brim by Professor McGonagall. It wasn't a pleasant sensation at all, he couldn't even breathe and he was sure that the blood vessels in his eyes were about to pop any second. Thankfully, before anything drastic like this could happen, the sensation stopped just as suddenly as it had started and he took in huge gulps of air, clutching his stomach. It was protesting this treatment and threatening to empty itself all over the road.

There was a loud pop and he looked back to see Quirrell appear. Neither of the adults looked discomfited by this, though they didn't seem to think that his reaction to this apparition business was strange. He understood why when McGonagall said, "It is a common reaction to Apparating for the first time. At least you didn't throw up."

Harry didn't think that was much of a consolation but decided not to say anything. He didn't know anything about this world and it would be best if he kept quiet till he knew something at least. It never crossed his mind that two professors were the best people to ask such things.

Quirrell, he noticed, was handing over something to McGonagall. It was a palm sized object and looking closer, he was shocked to realize that it was actually an overnight bag, just smaller than any he had ever seen. It didn't seem to surprise McGonagall at all, and she quickly pocketed it. Quirrell caught him gaping at it and he explained with a slight stutter, "A Sh-shrinking Charm. Useful f-for carrying big …things."

The name of the charm was self-explanatory, Harry thought. What wasn't self-explanatory was how Quirrell drew out a big piece of dark blue cloth out of his trouser pocket that couldn't have possible fit inside. He then proceeded to smooth out the fabric and then fold it properly before placing it in the crook of his elbow.

McGonagall saw his surprise and explained, "That's a cloak. We usually wear robes and cloaks for day to day business. There is an Expanding Charm in his pocket. It's something that most clothes made in our world do. Mine does too."

Harry privately thought that her skirt was so voluminous that it could have hidden an umbrella without any trouble; a piece of cloth wouldn't be very difficult. The suit she was wearing was very old fashioned. If they walked around in robs all day, he could understand that she probably wasn't very used to wearing normal clothing.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter. Might as well make our way towards a place that will provide us with what we need. Be sure to pay attention." McGonagall told him strictly before making her way out of the alley that they had appeared in. What was surprising was that no one seemed to have realized that three people seemed to have appeared out of thin air in a well-lit alley right off the main road. Once on the main road, Harry looked around to find that in fact, no one gave any indication that they could even see the small corner, let alone notice oddities in it.

It was all very surprising, and even a little disturbing, though he didn't voice it. They joined the pedestrians making their way in the direction they were headed. To his surprise, and he was getting heartily tired of it, they stopped in front of a disreputable little place with a sign saying, 'The Leaky Cauldron'. The people around him seemed to be completely unaware of it, their eyes passing from the bookstore on one side to the little music store on the other, completely bypassing it. Harry had a feeling that this was their destination.

He was proven to be correct when he was swiftly ushered inside. One swipe at his hair that nearly blinded him and McGonagall clutched his hand and fairly dragged him through the little taproom filled with witches and wizards having a drink. Once in the courtyard with a brick wall in front of them, McGonagall finally paused and looked at him musingly.

"A hat, maybe?" Quirrell asked. The man had followed them all through their mad rush.

She nodded decisively and pulled out a slightly crumpled little pointed hat. It was a quintessential witch's hat and Harry blushed at having to wear it but didn't protest when she placed it on his head such that it flopped down almost to his ears. He understood now that she was trying to hide his scar. To draw attention away from the disquieting fact that he had to be disguised before going shopping, Harry asked with mild disappointment, "Is this it?"

McGonagall looked at him archly with a slight upward tilt to her lips, "Certainly not."

She turned to the brick wall that had a trash can in front of it and took out her wand while saying, "Now watch carefully, Mr. Potter. You will have to do this too someday."

She tapped a collection of stones with her wand, and Harry could only watch in amazement as the brick she had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

They quickly stepped through the archway and looking back, Harry saw that the stones shrank back into themselves to form an uninterrupted wall again. It was, he decided with a small smile, magic.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're

mad..."

McGonagall seemed to know the woman because she shook her head affectionately and said, "Oh Molly."

They didn't pause at any of these shops though, in fact, they kept walking till they reached a snowy white building that towered over all the other shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was something that very definitely wasn't human. It stood about a head shorter than Harry and had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet.

He tugged on McGonagall's skirt, only to find something that slipped right through his fingers. He looked at her only to find that she had somehow managed to fling an emerald green cloak over herself. Choosing to tackle that mystery some other day, he asked her in a whisper when she looked at him questioningly, "What are they?"

"Goblins, Mr. Potter. They are goblins and they run Gringotts, the premier bank in England. Be always respectful to them, they control your money and never waste their time. They don't like it."

With these few short words of wisdom, they entered the bank, the goblin bowing to them once. Looking closer, Harry saw that he didn't seem to be very pleased but there wasn't anything to be done about it before McGonagall hurried him towards the second pair of doors facing them, silver this time. They had words engraved on them.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. McGonagall led their way to one of the counters, Harry in the middle, and Quirrell tagging behind.

"Morning," McGonagall said to the goblin. "We'd like to make a withdrawal out of Mr. Potter's vault for Hogwarts."

The goblin peered down at Harry before saying, "Mr. Potter's trust Vault has an age restriction on it. Nothing can be taken out before the age of eleven."

The goblin looked at the Deputy headmistress before sneering and asking, "Is Mr. Potter eleven?"

Harry spoke up then at seeing McGonagall's angry expression, "It's my birthday tomorrow."

"Then come back tomorrow." Harry was the recipient of the goblin's sneer this time.

Quirrell spoke up then, proving that he wasn't just a doormat that had been brought along for the ride. "M-maybe he can enter…some other v-vault he has."

The goblin glared at the man but said reluctantly, "He might. While the main Potter vault can't be touched toll the age of seventeen, I'll have someone escort you to the Black heir vault. After proving your identity of course."

The grin on the goblin's face as he shouted, "Griphook!" surprised Harry for a moment. Then he saw the pale faces of his companions. McGonagall looked horrified and Quirrell looked as if he would faint at any moment. He got the feeling that maybe proving his identity was much more horrible than in the Muggle world.

However, when he simply had to write his full name on a piece of parchment handed to him by the goblin in front of them, he decided it must have been the fact that he was being escorted to the Black heir's vault that must have caused the extreme reactions. Yes, the fact that he had to write his name using a quill that used his own blood as ink was bad, but nowhere near so horrible that someone would faint at the very mention. He had been startled when the words had etched themselves on the back of his hand but when they disappeared a moment later, he decided to put it out of his mind for the moment and think on later. He was compiling quite a long list of things to be thought at later.

The goblin, Griphook, looked like all the other goblins Harry had seen, that is, a scowling, bearded person who looked horribly put upon. He wondered what went on in Gringotts to make all its employees look so angry. One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to work here when he grew up.

They were led through one of the many doors that led out of the main hall. To Harry's surprise, instead of more marble, the door opened down to a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. And down was right, the passage sloped steeply downwards and there were little train tracks on the floor.

Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in – it was a bit cramped with all three of them but the fact that they were all so thin and that Harry was so small helped- and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

He asked, "What's the difference between a stalactite and a stalagmite?"

"Stalactites grow on the ground and stalagmites from the roof," McGonagall said. Even though she sounded very confident, Harry got the feeling that she didn't know the answer very well either. He didn't get the time to say anything more though since they suddenly took a track that was so steep that Harry started feeling scared that he might just fly off the back of the cart. He couldn't believe it but it seemed that the cart was speeding up.

"Breathe in!" Quirrell shouted suddenly.

Harry didn't know why but both the adults with him took in a breath sharply as they took a hairpin bend at speed, and saw with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding on the tracks. Harry barely had any time to take a breath but it didn't help. Water filled Harry's eyes and mouth. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Just when he felt like he couldn't go any further without air, they passed out on the other side.

They were all shivering. McGonagall sounded shaken as she asked, "What was _that?"_

"Thief's downfall. It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment," Griphook answered smugly.

"B-but we aren't im-imposters!" Quirrell cried out in dismay. Harry couldn't decide whether the stutter was out of nervousness, anger or the cold that was starting to set in.

"We know that now." Griphook sounded gleeful as he said that. Harry could only take it to understand that it wasn't a regular occurrence to be dunked in a waterfall.

The cart took another turn, nearly flinging off its passengers and Harry saw with an open mouth as they passed by a fantastical beast that was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast's scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground, its eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth, and spat a jet of fire that had Harry flinging up his arms in a futile attempt to protect his face.

McGonagall and Quirrell reacted in a more helpful fashion. They took out their wands and waved them in a fast yet complicated motion. Nothing seemed to happen but then Harry realized that flames had touched him yet all he felt was a slight tickling fashion. They passed by the dragon, because Harry had realized that it could only be a dragon and came to a stop far enough away from it that the beast couldn't reach them. Harry could only hope that the dragon wouldn't decide to spit out fire at them again.

"My shield didn't work!" McGonagall said in a very shaky voice. She sounded as if she would have liked to gulp in air rapidly very much but was refraining from it. She looked at Quirrell questioningly. He replied in a small voice that stuttered so much that it was with some difficulty that Harry managed to decipher what the man said.

"F-fluh…ame f-freez-zing ch-ch-charm."

"I had no idea that worked against dragon fire," McGonagall said musingly, seemingly having turned her attention to the academic challenge rather than how her spell had failed to work. Harry couldn't help thinking as Griphook rubbed a bloody finger on the wall in front of them that it was the cart itself that had protected them from the fire. He had no doubt that the goblin wouldn't have taken any risks with its own skin. The unconcerned look on his face seemed to give credence to it.

He didn't get the chance to say anything about it though as suddenly, with a low groaning sound, the wall in front of them split open.

With a slight jerk, their cart started moving forward, even Quirrell looking shocked. It looked like even the Professor had never been this far under. The cart moved slowly now, even gingerly, one might say. Harry realized why when they passed a torch hung on the wall that the tracks were over open air. It was an intercrossing network of railway lines passing over empty space. They were currently nearly hugging a wall, only a small gap between their piece of the railway track and the ledge that seemed to go all the way around the nearly circular caver. The place was so large that Harry couldn't even see the far side properly except small pinpricks of light from the torches that were doubtless hanging all over the walls.

They finally stopped in front of a door that was a dark bronze, almost black color except for light silver streaks. It wasn't too big, about the size of the Dursleys' front door. It still looked much more impressive than their door did.

Griphook jumped off with ease and alacrity. Quirrell was much more careful and when he found his footing on the ledge in front of the door in the face of the cave, he held out a hand to help McGonagall along. She took it and the moment placed her feet on stone, made her way over to the door, small though the space was. Turning back, she said in a harried voice, "Come along now, Mr. Potter, and hurry up. We don't have all day."

She didn't extend her own arm to help her though, choosing instead to let Quirrell do the honors, who extended his hand again reluctantly. Harry got the feeling that neither of his Professors was too interested in being near the edge of the ledge. Harry couldn't really blame them; he was feeling a bit queasy too. Though it might have been a result of their breakneck journey, he couldn't be sure.

Griphook waited till Harry stood in front of the door, before saying nastily, "Place your hand on the door."

"Where?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Anywhere!" the gobbling said impatiently.

Harry placed his palm on nearly the center of the door. To his shock, something pricked his palm and he let out a yelp, pulling his hand back hastily. To his horror, he found that his hand was stuck and he couldn't move it, no matter how much he tugged and pulled it. He shot a scared look at his side, to find Professor Quirrell looking at him

The man told him reassuringly, "We c-could c-cut off y-your h-hand."

The man didn't sound too sure of that, and even if he was, Harry didn't want to lose a hand! There were many things he still had to do and all of them required two hands! Not one hand he lost in the pursuit of money!

McGonagall took a hold of his waist and pulled. His hand came off with a wet sound and they both moved back a few steps at the sudden release. She shouted at the goblin, "What was that?"

Griphook looked quite disappointed as he answered, "Only someone with Black Blood could open the door. The further back the blood, the more blood will be taken till the body is drained."

Harry gaped at the goblin. First drowning waterfalls, then flaming dragons and now draining doors! Were all wizards such creeps or was it just the Blacks who wanted such security for their money! He was beginning to understand the horrified looks on his teachers' faces when they first learned that he was the Black heir. He rubbed his sore hand only for McGonagall to grab his hand and cast a spell on it. Thankfully, it worked this time and his cut closed up.

He turned to look at the door only to find that it still hadn't opened up. When he voiced it to Griphook, the gobbling shot a nasty look at him before placing his own hand on the door. He didn't wince but Harry knew that if it was anything like what he had undergone, it couldn't be pleasant. With a low groaning noise, the door seemed to disappear and Griphook's hand came free. Harry could only stare in fascination as it happened. He wished he knew how that worked; it would be extremely useful if he could do that every time his relatives tried to lock him in his new bedroom, or even the cupboard.

Griphook looked very annoyed as he said, "Only those keyed in can enter the vault. No keys are in circulation at the moment. Only Mr. Potter may enter."

McGonagall looked angry at that and Quirrell disappointed, but both seemed to accept that it couldn't be helped. McGonagall still asked, "And any other artifacts that Mr. Potter should be aware of?"

The goblin bared his sharp, pointed teeth at her as he replied, "If Mr. Potter doesn't know what something does, he should keep his hands off it."

It didn't seem to pacify the Professor very much but Harry decided to follow the edicts to the letter. Don't touch anything except money. Though he wondered if the notes hadn't caught mold, unless they used coins only? That might make for quite a large amount of change, certainly not something that would fit in his pocket. His dilemma was resolved when McGonagall handed him a bag that she seemed to have made out of nowhere and said, "Get 20 Galleons, 40 sickles and70 knuts if you have them. If not, simply come out and tell us what you do have."

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. "What?"

McGonagall's nostrils flared, yet she still told him, "20 gold coins, 40 silver and 70 bronze ones."

Harry nodded before making his way through the doorway. It felt like static electricity as he passed through the barrier that he now realized would block out the others. He entered inside to find darkness.

He felt very silly as he did so but said none the less, "Lights?"

The place didn't light up but a male voice certainly answered him "The correct incantation is Lumos."

Harry gasped; he hadn't realized there was anyone else inside. He hurriedly said as told, "Lumos," and true to the man's words, the lights in the chamber came to life. In the suddenly lit chamber, Harry searched for the person who had spoken, but failed to find anyone. Maybe he had hidden himself?

"And who are you?" the voice came again. Harry whirled around to find out that instead of a man, it was a portrait that seemed to have spoken. He was baffled as the young man in the portrait lifted an eyebrow at him. It moved!

He answered shakily, "Harry. Harry Potter."

The man sent a calculating look at him as he said, "Potter, hmm? Regulus Black at your service."

The man in the life size portrait bowed slightly as he introduced himself.

Harry just wished he could sit someplace in peace without anyone, even strange young men in paintings, bothering him as he thought about everything that had happened.

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A/N: Please review. If you have any questions, please ask. If they won't get answered in the next few chapters, or aren't a part of the plot, I'll get back to you.

But above all, review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you Rumour of an Alchemist, delenda est c,Krysania,Dark Neko 4000,Insanely-Yours96,LGilbert1982,Gelard,DGfleetfox,Glorilian & Riniko22 for reviewing. i loved all the reviews.**

**now, i think i ought to mention it that a few of the letters in my keyboard aren't working and i've been making do with copy and paste & there might be mistakes.**

**there also seems to be some confusion about the story. Quirrell hasn't been possessed by Voldemort yet, as in the book, it is mentioned that LV kept a closer look on him after he failed to rob Gringotts.**

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**Chapter 4**

The man in the painting, Regulus Black, looked totally unconcerned as he asked, "So, how long did it take my parents to have your mother?"

"I don't think they did." Harry said cautiously. "My mother's a," Harry tried to remember the word Professor McGonagall had used. "A muggleborn!"

"Oh…" Black said. A strange look passed on his face as he looked Harry over. Harry found that he didn't like it very much. The man seemed to be struggling with some inner dilemma before he finally asked, "So, what year is it? Magnificent though I am, it's not often I get visitors."

Harry looked at the portrait incredulously before saying, "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before getting locked in a cave whose door drains people of blood!"

The man simply looked at him for a few moments before asking, "It still does that then? I wondered for a few seconds. So, who was the Black on your side?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a few seconds before saying in embarrassment, "I don't know."

As the man continued to look at him with a blank look on his face, Harry couldn't help thinking that he was being judged …and found wanting. He hurriedly said, hoping to take the portrait's attention off the current topic, "And it's 1991 by the way."

"Just twelve years then," the man muttered under his breath.

"Since what?" Harry asked curiously.

The man shot him a glare at that as he said scathingly, "Didn't your parents ever teach you to pretend to not hear personal information? Well, if you're that curious, I might as well tell you. It's been twelve years since I died. And if you're smart, you'll never tell anyone what's in this vault or you might find yourself in the same position."

Harry found himself blinking rapidly at that, whatever else, he hadn't expected that. Dead? If he was dead, then how come he was still talking? He completely ignored the other part of the statement for the moment, people were already after him weren't they? What did it matter if someone else started it too? And anyway, it wasn't as if he was about to tell anything to anyone, this was his vault for as long as it was. He wasn't likely to share it with others, at least not till he knew everything that there was to know about everything in it. No, the more important point was something else. If Black could do it, then maybe…

He voiced his question, "If you're dead, then how come you're acting so…not dead?"

If it was even possible, that question caused Black to look at him in an even worse light. He said incredulously, "Have you been living under a rock since you were born? A portrait doesn't start talking till the person painted is dead!"

"I was raised by Muggles!" Harry found himself saying defensively.

Black rubbed his forehead before saying morosely, "And you're the Black Heir? We Blacks have been there since 230 BC, pureblooded since 750AD. And you're what we're left with?"

Harry felt very uncomfortable; he didn't even know his grandparent's names. He didn't even know when his parents were born and now this man was saying that his family had been there since Before Christ! It was enough to make him want to run away… far, far away.

As he looked on, Black seemed to find his composure back before asking, "You're James Potter's son then?"

Harry nodded.

"Who's your mother then?"

"Lily Potter. She used to be Evans though." Harry answered softly.

Black raised an eyebrow as he asked, "They got married then?"

Harry nodded before the words really struck him, at which point he asked excitedly, "You knew them then?"

"Knew them?" Black scoffed. "My brother ran away from home to live with _your_ father. Of course I knew them!"

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Black still looked bitter about it and so he said a measly, "I'm sorry."

Black just glared at him before asking rudely, "How come you ended up with Muggles then? I'd have thought Sirius would have taken you, the way he and Potter cavorted around the place like that. He was certainly the best man."

Harry looked at the portrait in bewilderment before he said, "I'm sorry, but I've never even heard of a Sirius Black."

Black pursed his lips and muttered angrily, "went and got himself killed no doubt, the ignoramus fool. Shouldn't have expected anything else out of him."

Harry thought that it was a terrible thing to say if the man really was dead, but didn't say anything. From the look of things, Black had been alone for many years, and that couldn't have been good for his mental state. The poor man probably didn't even realize that that he was saying things out loud. The poor painting, he meant. Since the man was already dead. That sounded really horrible, even in his own mind.

Black seemed to have read something of his thoughts on his face as he said, "I am perfectly sane as can be expected. Certainly sane enough to pass off as merely eccentric, not that it's any of your business. Now tell me everything that has been going on."

Harry frowned at him before saying, "Professor McGonagall and Quirrell are waiting outside though. And I don't really know much. I just found out today that I was a wizard."

Black seemed very put out at that but said instead, "What about You-Know-Who?"

Harry stared at him in bewilderment before saying hesitantly, "I'm afraid I don't know who."

Black stared at him in shock before saying miserably, "Oh, just stick your head outside and ask Professor McGonagall about him. Mind you, don't exit completely. You'll have to pass the test again if you do."

"But I don't know who 'he' is! How am I supposed to ask about him?" Harry exclaimed.

Black didn't seem to think that was a very big deal as he simply waved a hand and said negligently, "Simply call him He Who Must Not Be Named. She'll understand. And if she asks why, don't tell her about me."

The last part was a warning and Harry asked suspiciously, "Why?"

Black raised an eyebrow as he asked, "Why do you think that I stuck my portrait in a, as you said, cave whose door drains people of blood. Especially since I knew that there were very few people who would be able to enter the vault? Everyone who knows what I do has ended up dead. Everyone and their family. Do you really want to put your professors in such danger? Do you want to put _yourself_ in such danger?"

"What do you know that's so bad?" Harry asked curiously.

Black gave a mirthless laugh before he said, "I'm dead because of a Dark Lord, Potter. What do you think I know?"

Harry looked at him in indecision. Should he, or should he not do what the portrait said? On one hand, it was a portrait. On the other, it was the portrait of someone who had been a part of his family. The portrait really didn't want to be known, but it was because of something he had done to a Dark Lord, whatever that meant. The title itself didn't mean anything good to him, but then again, the man in the portrait was already dead. He couldn't possibly do anything. Surely asking a few questions couldn't hurt? He ignored the fact that his decision was being swayed by his own curiosity about someone who sounded a lot like the person who had murdered his parents. It might even have been the same person, surely the evil wizard was there just two years before his defeat?

He sighed before asking in resignation, "What should I say if someone asks why I'm asking the question?"

Black looked over his features, trying to find something, Harry couldn't figure out what. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it as he looked a little disappointed as he said, "Tell them you saw a newspaper article. From the Daily Prophet."

"The Daily Prophet?" Harry asked.

Black nodded as he answered, "It's one of our newspapers. It has moving pictures too, though they don't speak. But there's no need to mention any pictures. Most of those that featured him would leave you looking so bad that ii fear they are above your acting prowess, if you even have any."

Harry flushed in indignation. He so could act! But it wasn't the time to protest something that could only be proven by being shown, he had some coins to find and all that he'd seen of the vault, which was admittedly just a small glimpse, was completely lacking in anything like that.

He turned and walked to the archway and shoved his head through the thin magical boundary that prevented anyone from entering or seeing, and hopefully hearing anything inside. Quirrell gasped in shock at the sudden sight of a head floating in mid air. Harry felt a small thrill of satisfaction at that. He had a feeling that he'd always delight in these things; Quirrell really shouldn't have cursed him.

He spoke before anyone else could say anything, "Who's He Who Must Not Be Named?"

It was McGonagall who answered, sounding quite reluctant as she said, "It was the wizard who came after you and your family, I'm afraid. But how did you come across that phrase? I didn't think I mentioned anything like it."

"Oh, just a newspaper article that mentioned it. They didn't seem to like it very much. From the Daily Profit or something." Harry lied expertly. It really wasn't such a big thing compared to the lies that he usually had to tell in the Dursley household.

McGonagall seemed to buy it as she said, "The Daily Prophet, and yes, I can imagine that such articles would be in there since the vault belonged to the Blacks."

Griphook didn't seem to care about such things as he simply asked brusquely, "How long till you're done, human?"

Harry made a defensive look come on his face as he said, "I can't find any coins. It's all trunks and boxes in here."

He didn't think anyone would be able to disprove his words if this was the Black Heir Vault and he was the Heir.

Griphook simply sneered and said, "Then open the boxes, wizard."

Harry nodded, trying to look grateful for the advice and failing miserably. The goblin didn't have to act so supercilious. He withdrew his head as rapidly as he could; his neck had been starting to freeze and cramp at the same time, a very strange sensation that though not painful, was very uncomfortable.

When he turned around and walked over to Black's portrait, he saw that even though the man was trying to look unconcerned, something in his eyes gave him away. He answered, feeling a bit better now that he knew that even Regulus Black was feeling a bit nervous, "He disappeared about ten years ago."

"Disappeared, not dead, you say?" Black asked hollowly.

Harry racked his brains before saying, "Yes. Professor McGonagall said he vanished, not that he died when he came after us."

The man looked very worried as he asked in a way that made it obvious that he wasn't even paying attention, "When he came after you?"

Harry nodded anyway as he answered, "Yes. He came after my parents because my mother was a Muggleborn who had defeated him a few times and it was bad for his reputation, except something happened. Even though my parents died, I lived and he vanished. I don't know why."

Black was paying attention again as he asked eagerly, "And he hasn't come back since?"

Harry shook his head before adding, "Though his followers are still there and often try to kill me."

"And that's why you were left with Muggles," Black said, looking unhappy but understanding. Harry didn't understand why it made sense but before he could say anything, Black continued talking sounding more decisive and alive than he had before, though alive was a strange word to use for a portrait that was moving and talking only because the person whose portrait it was was already dead.

"You will go out and ask the goblin who escorted you here to give you a moleskin pouch that is connected to this vault with an extendable charm on its mouth. Tell him that you want level seven security and when asked, give exactly three drops of your blood to the goblin. Only three, not less, not more. That is very important."

Harry stared at him before he finally came to enough to ask, "And what do I say when they ask how come I know all these things?"

"Tell them there were instructions since the last Black feared that when he died, no one would be around to guide the next generation. Be careful not to mention who the last heir was. Hopefully, they'll assume it was my parents or maybe my uncle."

"Why not your aunt?" Harry asked before he could keep his mouth shut.

Black looked amused as he answered, "Because one of my uncles is dead and his wife was born a Rosier. We haven't married a Rosier in the last four generations before that and so her blood would be too diluted. My other uncle was disinherited and so it doesn't matter who he married. My paternal aunt married a Prewitt, a pureblood house, and so she lost the right to access this vault when she changed her name and came under another house's authority."

"But I'm a Potter," Harry protested. "Doesn't that count?"

Black looked at him in consideration before he asked, "Am I right in assuming that you are an only child, or at least the eldest one?"

Harry nodded, not sure where this was going. Black smiled, or maybe smirked would be more appropriate as he answered, "Your father was the last of the Potters. Hence, you become the Head of the House of Potter upon majority. Since you fall under your own authority even in a non-black house, you are perfectly capable of inheriting. Even then, I daresay that if not the Black Title, the Black estate at least would go either to Narcissa's child or Bellatrix's. Unfortunately, Andromeda was disinherited. Too bad, I heard her daughter was a Metamorphmagus. Do reinstate them both if you can, will you? Metamorphmagy is a Black trait and should remain in the Black line."

Harry nodded in a daze. This was too much for him to handle, he would deal with all of this later.

Black seemed to understand this as he told him in a softer tone than he had used before, "Go and handle the Vault matters. And remember, Level Seven Security for your moleskin pouch with an extendable charm on it. Only give three drops of blood, since blood is very powerful and can be used to even kill you if in the wrong hands. The pouch must be linked with the vault. Now go."

He made a shooing motion with his hands and Harry finally composed himself enough to do as told. This whole encounter had reminded him eerily of his life with the Dursleys. He did as told there as well, though at least he had protested and asked questions from Black. It would have to do for now.

When he exited the vault, he felt suddenly drained for no reason. What was most surprising was that it wasn't that he felt tired, but that he had lost something that he had before. It didn't felt like a permanent loss, just something temporary, like getting hungry. He knew that when he ate, he'd feel better, and he just didn't know what this type of lack meant.

Professor McGonagall grabbed hold of him the moment he was fully out of the archway that had housed the door, as if fearing he'd disappear if she let go. Looking back, he saw that the door had appeared again, as if it had never vanished, and wouldn't again till it got its blood either, if what Regulus Black had said was true.

He didn't say anything as he was quickly bundled up into the cart with Griphook following after they were all in it. He looked rather displeased to see him come out, thought Harry. Now if he could only figure out why, he agreed with McGonagall. It was never a good idea to displease the people who managed his money.

Quirrell asked, "C-can we m-move in the f-fastest s-speed?"

He sounded as if he hated the very thought, but Harry thought that he probably hated the thought of the dragon spouting flames at them even more.

Griphook smiled nastily at that question and said, "Yes."

The next few minutes were horrible. They got past the dragon fairly easily, and the waterfall didn't attack them again. A good thing, since they were still sopping wet. But the speed with which they passed right through the lake they had gone along the last time was so much that a fine spray hit them anyway. Harry was tempted to spit the water that had entered his mouth since he had heard that shouting when on a roller coaster helped in not throwing up. He had hoped that simply keeping his mouth open would suffice, but now he heartily regretted the impulse, who knew how often the lake was cleaned, or even ever!

McGonagall seemed to be holding her breath while Quirrell had shut his eyes. Harry couldn't imagine how that might have made him feel better; shouldn't it have been even more horrible? He didn't feel like asking though, in fact, he didn't feel like doing anything but holding the edges of the cart tightly and praying for this whole ordeal to end.

The moment the cart stopped in front of a door, McGonagall was off like a flash. She cast a spell that worked this time. Her clothes were suddenly dry and ironed and her hair neat and tidy again. She said stiffly, "Come on out, Mr. Potter, I don't fancy your catching a cold on my watch."

It took him a few tries to do as told, his legs seemed to have turned into jelly, and his stomach was roiling again, as if eager to empty itself. He slowly made his way over to his Professor, and soon enough, his clothes were dry and ironed, his hair lying flat on his head, something it had never done before, and the witch's hat on his head standing tall and proud again. It had been the only consolation of being so wet in his opinion, the hat had had shrunk in on itself till it could barely be seen, as if hiding itself. It was clearly visible again.

When they finally entered the main hall of Gringotts, Professor McGonagall tried to steer him out of the place, saying, "No need to worry, Mr. Potter. If not today, we'll come back tomorrow."

Harry held back, explaining at her inquisitive gaze, "I'm supposed to ask for a pouch that links to my vault. That's how money s to be taken. The last heir had left instructions."

The professor looked none too happy about it, but led him to one of the tellers again, the same one as before, Harry noted.

The goblin bared his teeth as he asked, "Yes?"

Harry marshaled his mind and repeated everything that he could remember Black telling him to do, "I would like a mole skin pouch that is linked to the Black Heir Vault. It's to have an extendable charm on its mouth, with Level Seven Security."

It seemed to be right, he thought, running his mind over what he had said. He felt that he had hot the strange words all right. The goblin certainly seemed to have understood it as he said, "That will be twenty seven galleons, to be taken from your vault." He sounded gleeful at the very thought.

That must have been quite a lot of money, Harry thought at the shocked breath McGonagall took. She demanded, "What for?"

That sounded very rude, but what did he know about dealing with goblins? It did seem to go against what she had told him earlier though.

The goblin sounded put out as he sneered prodigiously and then answered. "Twelve for the pouch and fifteen for the spells."

McGonagall said in outrage, "Scrivenshaft's sells them for eight!"

"Scrivenshaft's don't work in Gringotts." The goblin said with bated breath.

"Ten," McGonagall stated firmly.

"Eleven galleons fifteen sickles," the goblin counter demanded.

Harry watched eagerly as the goblin and Professor McGonagall started bargaining. At the end, they settled at his having to pay twenty five galleons, thirteen sickles, twenty Knuts. Somehow, they never argued about the spells, only the pouch. He would have to ask someone why or maybe find a book that told him why, because he didn't fancy asking any of his Professors. They didn't seem to think that it was strange that he didn't know many things, or at least McGonagall didn't.

Thinking of Quirrell, he looked around, trying to find where the man had disappeared to. He finally noticed him hovering around one of the columns holding up the ceiling. The man seemed to have found something very interesting in it. Harry shook his head; the man could just be trying to stay out of the way of everyone.

He returned his attention to McGonagall to find her asking the goblin, "And how much does Mr. Potter have in the Black vault before making any irreversible decisions?"

The goblin peered at Harry and said, "That is private information, to be divulged only to the Account holder."

McGonagall looked irritated as she beckoned Harry over and told the goblin, "Just tell it to him."

The goblin shot a suspicious look at the Professor, but turned a few pages in the book that was lying in front of him, before finally coming to the page he was apparently looking for. He crooked a finger at Harry, thought better of it and then shooed McGonagall away instead. McGonagall complied with a deeply offended look on her face.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the goblin told him with perfect courtesy that was completely false, "The Vault has a standing amount of Two thousand Galleons, Sickles and Knuts at all times. On withdrawals, money from the main Vault fills it up again."

Harry didn't know how many galleons were to a pound, but he asked nonetheless, "And how much money does the main vault have?"

The goblin looked put out as he said, "The current Head of the Black family being in prison, the vault has lain inactive since 1985, when the wife of the previous head died. The current balance is fifty thousand, one hundred and three galleons, three sickles and one Knut."

Harry thought about it, feeling a little queasy. Fifty thousand pounds was a big amount, if the coins the Wizarding World used were of real metals… Calm down, he told himself. He could ask all these things of Regulus when he saw him next, and he knew he'd see him again. A pouch that was linked to the vault and could evidently be used to take things out of it, an extendable spell on the mouth of the pouch that, if true to its name, would allow things much larger than expected to come out of the pouch…well, Harry wasn't stupid by any stretch of imagination.

"I want the pouch with all the effects I mentioned." Harry told the goblin.

The goblin smiled craftily as he brought out a dagger and glass vial from under the counter. The smile never disappeared as the goblin said, "Your blood."

The smile was extremely creepy, Harry thought, and the idea of using the dagger to cut his hand even creepier. When black had talked about giving blood, Harry thought it would be by using an injection or something like that. Maybe even that quill he had to use previously. He hadn't thought of the dagger at all, weren't they just short swords? He really didn't want to use it.

Wait…hadn't Black said something about three drops of blood, not less, not more? He looked at the smile on the goblin's face again and this time, it seemed nefarious instead of just creepy. If getting the pouch required only three drops of blood, why had the goblin given him a dagger? If he hadn't already known about how much was required, he would probably have dripped in enough blood to fill up the vial. He didn't think Professor McGonagall knew about the requirements, since he got the feeling that she took the safety of her students very seriously. Quirrell might have known, since he had been aware of the fountain, but he wasn't here. Moreover, in the crime shows that the Dursleys watched, the criminal always got caught because the murder weapon had traces of the victim's blood on it, even after getting cleaned.

He didn't trust himself to clean the dagger properly and he didn't trust the goblins enough now to leave them with any chance to get his blood that wouldn't be used right in front of him. Black had mentioned that his blood could be used to even kill him. It would be much safer to ask Professor McGonagall for something small and easily replaceable like a needle that she might even let him keep. The dagger had a jeweled hilt and an extremely sharp blade that shone in a way that was not indicative of steel. He got the feeling that it was a silver knife, in which case, he certainly wouldn't be allowed to keep the dagger.

He pasted on a worried look on his face and asked, "I don't really like knives. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem if I asked Professor McGonagall to give me a needle instead."

Without giving the goblin time to protest, he turned to the professor and pitching his voice higher so that she could hear him, he asked her, "Professor McGonagall, do you have a needle or something I could borrow? It's just that he's asking me for my blood and I don't really like knives."

The professor had been keeping an eye on him, even though she couldn't hear what was happening, so when he turned to her, she was ready and hurried over to him instantly, saying, "Of course Mr. Potter, I am not a professor for nothing."

And saying that, she pulled out a piece of paper from her skirt that she proceeded to turn into a very sharp needle. He stared at the magic before shaking his head clear and taking the needle when she extended it to him.

He turned and after pricking the index finger on his left hand, carefully rubbed out three drops of his blood in to the vial the goblin had given him.

The goblin looked disappointed as he took the vial and told him, "You will have to wait while the pouch is prepared."

When the goblin got off his high stool to go to the door right behind him, Professor McGonagall asked him in a low tone, "I gather there were also instructions on exactly how much blood to give?"

Harry simply nodded. It seemed to be enough as she continued, "I never liked Walburga much, but at least she liked her family enough to help them even when she is dead."

The admission was a very reluctant one, yet one she still made.

* * *

When they finally exited Gringotts, it was to a brilliant sunshine and the cheer and bustle of a busy street. The pouch was tucked away safely in his pocket. He had finally found out that the conversion rate was five pounds to a galleon, even more since there were taxes to the conversion. He wasn't about to lose something like this.

They paused at the steps of Gringotts in order to give their eyes some time to adjust. When they could finally see without getting spots in their eyes, Professor McGonagall smiled encouragingly at him and said, "Come Mr. Potter, let's go and get you something that is an essential for every wizard, something that will be your best friend all your life. Let's find you a wand."

* * *

**there might be a longer gap between the chapters since my school's starting again & my practicals are next week . Please review. **


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